


These Hands

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, CA:TWS Tag, Can Be Read as Shippy if You Are So Inclined, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Facebook, Gen, Grief, Grounding, Guilt, Originally Posted on Tumblr, PTSD, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past non-consensual drug use, Recovery, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9434000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: A tag to Captain America: The Winter Soldier, in which Steve and Bucky process the things they did to one another on the Helicarrier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> saw this gifset and couldn’t stop myself: http://skysalla.tumblr.com/post/94781698835/flawless-hybrid-drop-it-ah-yes-exactly

Steve wakes up in the hospital.

The first couple times he doesn’t register much more than _ow._ The third time he recognizes the smell of antiseptic and the sound of the heart monitor tracing his heartbeats. His tongue is dry and thick in his mouth and he aches, bone-deep, everywhere.

“Hey,” a soft voice says and when he looks over, he’s surprised to see Sam beside the bed, eyes soft and worried. Steve starts to croak a response, but his throat’s too dry and it starts him coughing.

“Hey, hey, careful, it’s all right,” Sam says and Steve feels one of his hands grasp his shoulder. The other holds out a cup filled with ice chips. “One at a time, man, okay?”

Steve manages to get one of them in his mouth and it melts slowly, stinging the roof of his mouth, but the liquid soothes his throat. “Thanks,” he rasps when he’s able. After he’s got his breath back, he asks, “Did we— Is everyone—”

He can’t seem to find the right question.

Sam nods. “We killed the carriers. There were eighty casualties, six fatalities.”

Steve’s heart skips. “Natasha?”

“Down the hall getting a coffee and probably muttering about idiot Americans.”

Steve sighs shakily, mouth twitching in a weak smile. “How long was I…?”

Sam looks down at his hands, folded between his knees. His mouth pulls to the side. “Four days.”

Laying his head back against the pillows, Steve takes that in. “How bad is it?”

“Well, you were in surgery for the better part of two and a half days—”

“No,” Steve cuts him off, “I mean. Everything else.”

“Oh,” Sam says, and then smiles. “Of course.” He shrugs one shoulder and leans back. “A little chaotic. Coupla people are still arguing about whether or not you’re a traitor, but mostly Tasha’s move with the Internet seems to have taken care of things.”

“That was a big move,” Steve says. He’ll have to ask Natasha how she’s holding up. That decision can’t have been easy. He’s proud of her for it. In her place, he’s not sure he’d have the strength to expose himself like that.

They’re both quiet for a moment and Steve thinks back. All he has are bits and pieces, scraps of memories, the sensation of Bucky’s metal arm hitting his face. “How did I…” He frowns. “How did I get here? The last thing I remember is the helicarrier. I fell.”

The look Sam gives him for that question is wary. “We’re not sure. Retrieval team found you on the bank, half buried in debris.”

Steve closes his eyes, trying to remember, to make his mind cooperate. “I fought him. Fought Bucky. We were over the Potomac.” He shakes his head. “I fell in the water. I must’ve. He had to’ve come after me.”

“There was water in your lungs,” Sam concedes, sounding reluctant. “Steve, the damage he did to you—”

Steve looks up, mouth thinning. “Don’t. Don’t say it. I dealt him a hand just as lousy.”

“I don’t doubt that you did,” Sam says, holding up placating hands, “but we didn’t find his body in the wreckage barely clinging to life. We found yours.”

There’s a sharp pulling sensation in Steve’s throat as it tightens, his eyes growing damp. “I broke his _arm,_ Sam,” he grits out. “I held onto it and felt it _snap_.”

Sam’s eyes are big and round and Steve doesn’t understand why he’s looking at him with so much sympathy. He broke his best friend’s arm, nearly _killed_ him. He’d tried so hard not to, and he’d still done so much damage.

“You did what you had to to keep him from killing you first,” Sam says quietly.

“He didn't—he didn’t deserve this,” Steve chokes. “To have me take him apart like that. If I’d have been faster on that train—”

“Hey,” Sam says, voice hardening. “No. Don’t even start that. This is not your fault.”

But now that Steve’s thought it, he can’t stop, even with Peggy’s voice ringing in his ears, _Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice,_ laid over the sound of Bucky screaming—in fear, in pain. He could have stopped this, could have saved Bucky, could have saved hundreds of lives if only he’d been quicker.

And now he’s raised his hands to the guy who looked out for him all while he was growing up, who brought him cigarettes for his asthma and sweets when he was laid up, who made him go on that _stupid_ ride at Coney Island. Maybe if he’d been better he wouldn’t be so God-damned alone.

Steve’s chest is heaving and it feels like it’s on fire.

“Steve, Steve, man, you gotta calm down,” he hears Sam saying, and feels a broad palm curve around the back of his neck. “They’re gonna medicate you if you don’t calm down.”

It’s so hard, because he feels raw and hollowed out, like there’s nothing left of him but hurt. He clenches his hands, trying to shake the feeling of the bone giving way. Swallowing gulps of air, he feels the sharp stinging at the corner of his mouth that probably means he’s tearing stitches. His face is wet and as the initial wave passes, shame creeps up the back of Steve’s neck.

“Don’t do that,” Sam says, and he’s admonishing but gentle. “You just went through a fresh new hell. Don’t get all weird on me. That had to happen, get it?”

Steve’s mouth is still trembling, thick tears bubbling up every time he thinks he’s through.

“That’s right,” Sam murmurs, one hand steady and solid on Steve’s back as he shudders, and shudders, and shudders. “You’re all right.”

“He’s out there,” Steve says eventually, his head having sunk forward onto Sam’s shoulder. He’s finally stopped and his face feels raw, his eyes swollen. It’s been a long time since he felt this exhausted.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“I have to go after him.”

Sam huffs. “Yeah, I thought you might say that.” He squeezes Steve’s neck and says, “When you’re on your feet.”

Steve won’t let Bucky down again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skysalla demanded the bucky side of this
> 
> AND HERE WE ARE

Now that she’s obliterated her ability to remain under the radar, Natasha has become an avid fan of social media. Posting photos is her favorite. Mostly of the rest of them. She seems to have a magical ability that prevents her from ever showing up in anything but publicity photos or fan photos.  
  
Anyway, that’s how Bucky winds up staring at a photo from eight months ago of Steve in a hospital bed when Steve is showing him what the hell Facebook is one afternoon.

He’s been clean of the drugs for five months now and that’s made it easier to remember Before. Still, he’s lived ninety-six years and what he does remember is sometimes murky and uncertain. He’s got Steve to rely on for the rest, and after six months of his unwavering support, Bucky would trust his word even if he couldn’t remember.

But he knows Steve’s been the one constant, the single most valuable thing in his life for a long time.

It’s been awhile since he thought about that last mission and he’s never thought about that fight, about what he _did_ to Steve.

The emotion comes on fast, powerful and all-encompassing, and Bucky’s still trying to get used to feeling again so within seconds he’s on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Bucky?” Steve says, voice rising in alarm. “Buck, what is it? What do you need?”

Before he can even contemplate answering through the onslaught of emotion, Steve sees what his gaze is fixed on.

“Oh, _shit,_ ” he says, and scrolls quickly away. Then, very calmly, he turns to Bucky and says, “Buck, look at me. I’m right here.”

Bucky’s gaze snaps to his face when he cuts off his view of the computer screen, his throat working convulsively.

“Take my hands,” Steve goes on, and Bucky feels his fingertips brush the backs of his clenched fists. “Careful. Not too tight with the left.”

Focusing on the difference in pressure for each hand forces Bucky to focus, and he stares down at their clasped hands, watching as the skin of the one in his right goes white, but the left stays a healthy pink.

“Remember your grounding phrase?” Steve asks.

“I can handle this,” Bucky recites hoarsely.

Steve smiles. “Good. You’re doing great, Buck.”

Bucky nods tersely, and feels the tip of his ponytail tickle the back of his neck. “I can handle this,” he repeats, and takes a shuddering breath.

He thinks about how much he loves Thai, about Stark and his stupid goatee, and about that dumb little mutt Steve got Bucky that’s somewhere out in the park with Clint right now, probably having the time of its life.

Finally, the strength of the emotion fades, and he squeezes Steve’s hands, never really finding the balls to look him in the eye. How can he, when he came so close to killing him?

“I did that to you,” he says and Steve shifts.

“No, Buck. We’ve been over this. You were brainwashed.”

Frustration starts to well up in Bucky’s chest. “But I _knew_ you—”

“So what?” Steve says, stubborn. “You were _brainwashed._ You were on a whole cocktail of drugs—you didn’t even know your own name, Bucky. You didn’t know what you were doing. Besides. You saved me, too.”

Bucky cuts his eyes to the floor. “I don’t know why.”

Steve squeezes his hands. “I do. You were in there, fighting to get out all along. You just needed that final boost.”

Bucky sniffs and tries to lift his hand to wipe at his nose. Steve, the idiot, won’t let go of him. With a half-hearted glare, he lifts both their hands and uses the back of his wrist instead.

Steve smiles at him. “I don’t blame you, Buck, and neither should you.”

“That’s stupid,” Bucky mutters.

“Maybe, but I get all my stupid from you.”

He’s too fond, too forgiving, and Bucky’s desperate for all of it, so he takes the words and tucks them away for when he thinks about this later. He will, he knows he will, and he’ll need them.

“Get to the part where you show me how to get back at Natasha for posting all those pictures of me with braids in my hair.”

Steve laughs and Bucky vows never to hurt him like that again.


End file.
